This lady was named Donna Madallena de Soria, the which, in the judgment of some, did a fine thing to kill her husband for the wrong he had done her; but did no less foolishly to slay herself,—and indeed she doth admit as much, saying “for lack of understanding she did herself to death.” She had done better to have led a merry life afterward, were it not, mayhap, she did fear the law and dread to get within its clutches, wherefore she did prefer to triumph over herself rather than trust her repute to the authority of the Judges. I can assure you, there have always been, and are yet women more astute than this; for they do play their game so cunningly and covertly, that lo! you have the husband gone to another world, and themselves living a merry life and getting their complaisant gallants to give ’em no mere artificial joys with _godemiches_ and the like, but the good, sound, real article. Other widows there be which do show more wisdom, virtue and love toward their late husbands, with never a suspicion of cruelty toward these. Rather they do mourn, lament and bewail them with such extremity of sorrow you would think they would not live one hour more. “Alackaday!” they cry, “am not I the most unhappy woman in all the world, and the most ill-starred to have lost so precious a possession? Gracious God! why dost not kill me straight, that I may follow him presently to the tomb? Nay! I care not to live on after him; for what is left me in this world or can ever come to me, to give me solace? An it were not for these babes he hath left me in pledge, and that they do yet need some stay, verily I would kill myself this very minute. Cursed be the hour ever I was born! If only I might see his ghost, or behold him in a vision or dream, or by some magic art, how blessed should I be e’en now! Oh! sweetheart, sweet soul! can I in no way follow thee in death? Yea! I will follow thee, so soon as, free from all human hindrance, I may be alone and do myself to death. What could make my life worth living, now I have had so irreparable a loss? With thee alive I could have no other wish but to live; with thee dead, no wish but only to die! Well, well! is’t not better for me to die now in thy love and favour and mine own good repute and satisfaction, than to drag on so sorrowful and unhappy a life, wherein is never a scrap of credit to be gotten? Great God! what ills and torments I endure by thine absence! what a sweet deliverance, an if I might but see thee soon again, what a crown of bliss! Alas! he was so handsome, he was so lovable! He was another Mars, another Adonis! and more than all, he was so kind, and loved me so true, and treated me so fondly! In one word, in losing him, I have lost all mine happiness.”